


breathless

by choir, lunick



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choir/pseuds/choir, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunick/pseuds/lunick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tajima has a high-pitched voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. summer

**Author's Note:**

> So we both listened to a BLCD with Shimono Hiro (Tajima's seiyuu) and Taniyama Kishou (Hanai's seiyuu) and were very ... impressed with Shimono's breathless moans. Thus, we decided to both write the same prompt and see how they turned out.
> 
> First one done by lunick, second by choir.

"Azusa."

His voice is too breathless.

He sounds too exhausted for it to be Tajima, his voice weak, and high pitched, gasping breaths trying to fill his lungs with air that smells like Hanai's neck, and his shoulders, and his chest. He buries his face into the crook of the right fielder's neck, face hot and sweat making his bangs stick to his forehead, wrapping his arms tighter around his ribcage, trying to get a grip.

It really feels too good, the way Hanai is hanging over him, they way he's sliding into him, the way everything he hears and smells and feels is just an extension of his teammate, his boyfriend. The sheets stick to his back as he arches up off of the bed, the bumps of his spine protruding, another moan just barely slipping from his lips.

"Azusa--"

It's not even a moan, it's just a high pitched whine, barely intelligible as his name in between the breathlessness of it and the pitch. Hanai bites his bottom lip, breaths huffing from his mouth, ghosting over the skin stretched over Tajima's collarbone.

"I love you."

His voice is muffled, and whiny, the last word melting into a flurry of high pitched moans that make Hanai's skin color bright red; how is he making those noises, and he's got to be just making them to mess with Hanai, there's no way his voice actually works that way. He digs his fingernails into the skin of the right fielder's ribcage, choppy breaths ripping from his lungs until his throat hurts.

It just feels so damn good.

He takes in a long breath through his nose, smelling sweat and skin and the detergent from the sheets which will surely need to be changed after this. Hanai is mumbling soft words into his ear, things like "I love you" and "just a little more," and he wants so desperately to say something back, to call out his name, or to beg for more, for slower, for faster, for him to just not stop now, but the only thing that can come out when he opens his mouth are the pathetic whimpers and moans that only go higher in pitch that hang in the back of his throat through this whole thing.

He falls back against the bed, trying to stop himself from shaking and squirming under Hanai's touch, but he can't help it, and his hips and his back arch up without his permission and his head drops back and he brings an unsteady hand from where it's digging desperately into the taller boy's skin and lays his forearm over his eyes, fingers curling up into a tight fist against his palm.

His mouth is open as trembling, gasping, humiliatingly high whines and moans pull up through his throat and into the air, filling the room with so much noise he feels dizzy from lack of oxygen, and all the heat in his stomach spills out through his mouth and as his cum splatters up on his own stomach. He swallows thickly, his own spit getting caught up in his throat and practically choking him as he tries to get his breathing back to normal.

Tajima keeps his eyes covered, and his lips curl into a smile as he can feel his spine resting against his sheets, and his chest hurts and his stomach is sticky but Hanai is falling down just next to him, face still rubbing up against his shoulder. He swallows again.

"What're you smiling about," Hanai asks, his voice tired and raspy, his hand brushing lazily along the side of Tajima's abdomen, making his skin prick up all over again. The room is quiet now that they're done, and they can faintly hear the cicadas outside the third baseman's window. He hums lightly, airily, and drops his hand down to his side.

"I really love to see you blush, Azusa."

 

 

Just outside, Izumi is at the baseball diamond and can hear noises that sounds oddly like Tajima yelling -- he looks up, towards Tajima's house, and can see in through the second floor window two shapes that look awfully suspicious and familiar. He squints.

No wonder they aren't at practice today.


	2. winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two.

Hanai didn’t even know Tajima’s voice could go so _high_.

He knows that the majority of the Nishiura team haven't gone through puberty. Abe has the voice of an old man, Mihashi’s voice rings higher (and considerably more sharply) than anyone else’s, Izumi is now in the awkward phase where his voice cracks and everyone laughs about it, and Tajima …

Well, Tajima is always a different case.

Truthfully, Hanai could have gone a very long time without knowing how Tajima’s back arches when he’s close, the way toes curl and crack by Hanai’s ears. And his … noises.

When Tajima first grins up at Hanai’s face, and tugs him by the collar, he lets out what Hanai previously thought was breathless laughter. Later it evolves into a higher pitched whine, thighs shaking as Hanai covers Tajima’s body with his own. Even later, desperate moans accompanied by thrashing limbs, setting Hanai’s face on _fire_ , watching sweat drop down the line of Tajima’s throat, the grinding of his teeth --

He has to be doing it on purpose. _Has_ to.

“Hanai, Hanai, _Azusa, Azusa,_ ” pants Tajima, rutting against Hanai’s hip like it’s the most normal thing in the world, eyes shut tight and mouth open wide as he makes more keening noises at the base Hanai’s throat.

And Hanai can’t speak, voice stuck in the same place as his heart, hands snaking between them to grab their erections, watching Tajima’s face contort and shudder. He’s more loud than usual on days like this, when the chilled air in the room creates white wisps of smoke as they exhale, when goosebumps line their arms and they’re both breathing so quickly Hanai’s head spins.

 _On purpose, on purpose,_ Hanai’s head repeats, feeling Tajima’s nails rake against his shoulders and clutch, hard. His gasps are still high pitched and breathless, choppy and unrehearsed, neck bending so far back it must hurt. Into the open air, he keeps repeating _love you, love you,_ the ends of sentences breaking off and becoming incoherent.

The room is so _noisy_. Hanai can’t hear the heavy rain, only the fire in his limbs and the way Tajima’s hips buck up into his hand, rubbing against his cock just _right,_ dragging against the skin and oh, God. It’s on purpose. No moans can be that shuddery, weak chants of Hanai’s name asking for _more, faster, more, more more._

Hanai wants to say something, to respond to anything that Tajima is saying, but his own voice begins to come out in shuddering, breaking sentences, swallowing and swallowing with nothing coming to his mind. There’s  _Tajima,Tajima,_ laid out below him and shaking and bucking his hips up in desperation. There’s sweat and skin and blush spread out across their cheeks. There’s precum splattered across their conjoined hips, a sight so lewd that even Hanai cannot look for too long.

Tajima seizes up before he comes, voice cracking and going an octave higher, bringing Hanai stumbling down with him, grasping at skin and shaking, nails grazing along shoulders and arms and ribs. It’s messy, angry, the lack of oxygen making Hanai’s vision spin and go black momentarily before he falls against Tajima’s chest.

And then silence, for a minute. The rise and fall of Tajima’s chest, his slowing heartbeat; Hanai closes his eyes and ignores the mess on their stomachs, lightly kissing Tajima’s collarbone.

“Hanai,” whispers Tajima, gently pushing him off.

“On purpose,” Hanai mutters irritably into the pillows. “That was on purpose. Your voice.”

“What’re you talking about, Hanai?” There’s such an obvious smile in Tajima’s voice Hanai feels his ears heat up, but a few moments later the sheets rustle, and Tajima presses up against his back, whispering against the skin: _I really love you._

Hanai huffs, turning over and looking at a pair of soft, gentle eyes, a hint of red still scattered across his cheeks. _So embarrassing,_ he thinks, pressing his lips against Tajima’s forehead, pulling him close.

They sleep through the storm.


End file.
